


call me friend but keep me closer

by dingletragedy



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dingletragedy/pseuds/dingletragedy
Summary: Callum knows Ben’s favourite colour, his favourite song, and the way he has his tea on rainy mornings, and that he, like, dates these guys. A string of men that are tall and dark-eyed and hold him close, and Callum - he doesn’t really know what to make of it. At the very start he never noticed it – those guys at the bar that would steal Ben’s attention away from their table, those ones that would linger too close for too long.He notices everything now.or, callum moves into a student flat with jay brown who just so happens to have a very attractive best friend. ben doesn’t date his best friends flatmates. ben doesn’t catch feelings. ben is a liar.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 26
Kudos: 136





	call me friend but keep me closer

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone!!! i have no idea what this is except someone promoted “why are you so jealous?” on tumblr and this is what happened!!!! i’ve had covid and haven’t been very well at all, hence why i’ve been mia from tumblr recently but this is my comeback!!!! i hope u enjoyed the peace whilst it lasted lmao
> 
> title from when the party’s over
> 
> stay safe & enjoy the fic xx

Callum can still remember the first time he met Ben. Sort of. In a fuzzy, distant way. It was a Saturday night, they’d started with their very own flat warming party, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you move into university halls. At eleven pm to be exact, Jay, one of Callum’s flatmates, had announced that they were going to move onto a well-known student bar, his brother worked there, _apparently,_ the drinks would be dirt-cheap, _apparently._

The pub itself was all dark-lit ambers and sticky floors, deep red velvet booths pushed along the walls, windows fogged and thick, bar top sheened with sticky varnish, it almost looked up-market through beer-goggled eyes, just how Callum liked it. 

He can remember Ian, the owner, clapping them all of the back as they came through the doors remembers him shouting _oi ben, get the newbie another drink, we want to keep him sweet,_ and then the boy behind the bar had turned, wiped his hands on his shirt, and Callum had frozen, blinking slow and heavy because _—oh_. He was gorgeous. Everything about that moment still feels clear to Callum, the look in Ben’s eyes when he noticed him staring, when he’d poured them tequila shots and stuck the lime right into Callum’s parted mouth, grinning with sharp teeth and bright eyes and Callum was already gone for him.

After, close to four in the morning, they all packed themselves into the flat; laughed all night and drunk more and Calum felt loose and warm and content for the first time in years. Later, when everyone went off to bed, and Callum was too drunk to think straight, he took Ben’s face between his hands, and kissed him. 

“Uh—no,” Ben had protested, the smirk that pulled at his lips still etched in Callum’s mind now. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Callum has asked, needy and probably embarrassing too. 

“Golden rule; no hooking up with Jay’s flatmates,” Ben had said, nondescript. “Sorry, mate.” 

And well, that was that, then. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Only it wasn’t, was it? Callum soon learnt it never was, with Ben Mitchell.

It’s barely a week later, they spent another night down at Ian’s bar, another night of Callum going home with nothing but _BenBenBen_ on his mind. He doesn’t have to dream it for much longer, though, because Ben arrives at Callum’s door close to midnight. 

As he and Callum stand in the hall, listening for lingering footsteps and waiting for bedroom lights to flick off, Ben’s fingers brush Callum’s wrist, purposeful, and Callum knows, then, that it’s over. 

In the darkness of Callum’s room, they stand simply with their hands touching. The moonlight hits through the open curtains and Ben’s eyes are shiny and his lips parted and wet.

“We should stop,” Callum says, right there in the dark. Because they’re friends first and foremost, that’s what they’d promised Jay. _Promised each other_. “This could get messy. For Jay, _for everyone.”_

“I don’t want to,” Ben says. His thumb touches under Callum’s chin, and he kisses the corner of Callum’s eye. Nobody had ever touched him like that before. “Just for tonight. Just for now.”

“Okay,” Callum agrees, because that’s okay. Just this once. Then it’d never happen again. 

There’s a beat, the words hanging between them, and then Ben surges forward.

Callum lets out a shuddered breath, eyes widening and then closing when their lips touch, a fumble of pressure. It’s over within a second. Callum is left chasing the feeling, his heart leaping up into his throat, beating wildly, fingers starting to tremble. 

“Ben,” he whispers, and it’s so, so quiet. But it’s enough. 

It breaks.

Their mouths meet again, gentle at first, but soon it’s all; hands moving, grappling. Through the dark they trip and stumble and knock into Callum’s desk, Callum’s back hitting the edge and then slipping up as Ben grabs, lifts, pushes. 

In their rough and rattling haste, something tumbles from the desk and hits the floor. A book, a picture-frame, Callum doesn’t know. Nor does he care. He’s distracted completely by Ben’s frantic fingers curling up in his shirt, then spreading over the now exposed, flushed skin of his back. It’s a feeling so new, so welcomed; it scintillates through him in the dark and gathers in a starry mass at the pit of his stomach.

In the dark, eyes shiny and wet-mouthed, Ben stares, both their chests heaving, faces flushed.

_Are we going to regret this?_

Callum stares back, beckons him closer before he can change his mind, and then Ben is there, he’s _there-there-and-there_ and Callum curls into him and thinks _yes._

He closes his eyes, clenches them shut and holds Ben close as morning draws near.

The threat of sunlight is so close he can taste it.

_Just for tonight._

  
  
  
  
  


Of course, though, it never really is as simple as that, it never really is _just for tonight._ Because they grow closer, inexplicitly so. There are these little intermittent pockets of time woven into Callum’s days, now, these moments where he’ll pop a messy Spotify playlist on whilst he works on his latest essay and thinks, _these words remind me of Ben._ He’ll be watching a new series thinking, _Ben would like this._ or he’ll dream of Ben, and he thinks, _shit._

All of these moments add together, and Calum lives for every Saturday night, when he finally gets to see Ben, for the time they exist together, just the two of them. Tucked together in the beer garden after Ben’s shift, talking and laughing and being close, Callum stumbling over his words when Ben looks at him like _that,_ up through his lashes innocently, like he’s got no idea what he’s doing to Callum’s head; _his heart._ And those Saturday nights, they soon turn into Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays, too. 

Callum knows Ben’s favourite colour, song, and the way he has his tea on rainy mornings, and that he, like, dates these guys. A string of men that are tall and dark-eyed and hold him close, and Callum—he doesn’t really know what to make of it. At the very start he never noticed it – those guys at the bar that would steal Ben’s attention away from their table, those ones that would linger too close for too long. _He notices everything now._

When they first met, and Callum had fooled himself into thinking he didn’t even have a tiny crush, not even a little infatuation, on Ben, _it was just sex,_ so he didn’t let himself think much of it. It’s different now though, different when Callum is right here and desperate for Ben’s attention, being a little too loud or too funny, all for the thrill of seeing Ben’s eyes flicker to him, and smile at his antics. It’s _jealousy_ , he’s accepted it now, plain and simple and a little ugly, a vicious swell that Callum needs to dampen because Ben isn’t his. 

But what Callum hates the most is that he knows the boys that Ben’s _‘dates’_ treat him like shit, leave him hollow and wrung out and feeling like it’s all he deserves. Callum’s brain is always turning and working in the background, over the thought of Ben spending a night with some prick who doesn’t appreciate him the way they should, who uses him just because Ben lets them. _Callum hates that he lets them._

The worst thing, maybe, is that Callum can’t do anything about it. Ben’s strong-willed and takes no shit, and he’d tear Callum to pieces if he even hinted at anything to do with the boys he takes home. Which is fair, because it isn’t Callum’s place to say anything. He just wishes it was, that Ben could be solely his to wish after.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The bar is packed tonight, madly so. 

Chatter and laughter washes together in a giant wave of white noise, blurring out the music playing on the speakers. The floor is sticky with spilt pints, from trips to and from the bar with three or four glasses clasped between spread fingers. Across the room, the double doors swing open and closed in a steady rhythm, food pumping out of the kitchen, how air billows into the room each time a waiter comes and goes.

“You right, mate?” one of the bartenders says as approaches Callum, wiping his wet hands on his shirt. His hair is shockingly blonde but dark at the roots, cheeks ruddy and hot, eyes shiny. 

“Yeah, just four pints for us, please,” Callum says. 

“No worries,” the bartender says, but he seems almost hesitant when he starts to drift towards the glasses, gaze still strained on Callum, eyes squinted slightly. When he places their drinks on the bar, he won’t take Callum’s money, still just staring at him.

“Uh,” Callum says, nervous suddenly. 

“You’re not that Callum lad, are you?” the bartender says. Callum blinks. 

“What?” Callum huffs a surprised laugh. “I mean, my name is Callum, but—“

“Oh, sick!” the bartender leans forward and claps him on the shoulder. “I’m Bobby, Ben’s nephew. Put that cash away, mate. You’re on the family tab, now.”

“I don’t understand,” Callum says slowly. 

“You’re Ben’s mate, yeah?” the bartender, _Bobby,_ says. Callum nods. “Great, you’re on the tab then. I’m under strict instructions not to take your money. It’s nice to finally meet you, Callum.” 

“Cheers, mate,” Callum says, still entirely confused as he picks up his drink, Whitney winking as they trail away from the bar. 

“Care to explain that?” Lola asks, looking far too amused. 

“I have no explanation for that,” Callum says. _You’re Ben’s mate._ So Ben had spoken about him, at least a little. Enough for his nephew to recognise him. _Jesus._

“He don’t put many people on the family tab, Ian’s well tight about it. You must be one of the lucky ones.” 

Before long, they’re three drinks down and Ben has appeared behind the bar. 

Callum takes a slow sip of his Vodka and lemonade, heavy on the Vodka, and watches Ben work, face flushed as he reaches up on his tiptoes for bottles of _God knows what,_ mixing and pouring quickly, watching the line grow and grow with rowdy students. He’s been ducking on and off the floor all night, working the bar for half an hour and then switching out to the kitchen during an order rush.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Jay groans, and he gives Callum’s a slap around the wrist. “Have you just come ‘ere to stare at Ben all night?” 

Callum blinks, cutting his gaze away quickly. Whitney watches him with a tiny quirk to her lips, chewing slowly on her salmon. Behind her napkin, Lola disguises her laugh as a cough and takes a long sip of water. 

“Uh,” Callum says slowly. “No.”

“Why not?” Whitney says, serious. “I would, he’s cute.”

“Whit!” Callum groans, shoulders slumping forward.

“Just an observation!” Whitney raises her hands, all innocent. Callum just sighs. 

“She’s right,” Lola says. “And he’s single.”

“Ben Mitchell ain’t ever single,” Jay laughs. 

“Shut up, Jay,” Lola grits out between her teeth. “You ain’t helping.” 

By the time their food arrives, Ben sits down, joining them on what she claims is her break. Callum wants nothing more than to push Ben up against the pool table and kiss him silly. Instead, Callum slides his palm over his thigh under the table, and Ben’s muscles only jump once before he settles, sending Callum a tiny smirk around the lip of his glass. 

The pub is full now, chatter rumbling through the entire building, and they have to shout to each other across the table. Laughter ricocheting up to the roof as Ben teases Jay endlessly, the two of them squabbling and throwing chips at each other. 

“The pair of you together,” Callum says, shaking his head. “You’re like children, I swear.” 

“You get used to it,” Lola laughs. “You’ll be loving them in no time.” 

“‘M not so sure,” Whitney teases.

_I am,_ Callum thinks. 

It doesn’t start to grow quiet for another hour or so after they finish up their meals, and Ben’s been back behind that bar for far too long, if you ask Callum. The last of the students in finishing off their drinks before moving onto more lively venues. It’s close to midnight when Ben finally meets his eyes across the room, nodding his head towards the door behind him and slipping outside. 

“I’m just going to the loo,” Callum says, as he starts to awkwardly manoeuver himself out of his chair, squashed up to the person sitting behind him.

“Have fun,” Lola says brightly. Callum flips her off. 

There’s a gentle breeze rustling through the trees when he steps through the doors, he rounds the side of the building, outback. Something is tugging, to where Ben is sitting on his break, reclined on an old park bench, back against the brick wall with his eyes closed, breathing steadily.

“Hey,” Callum greets softly.

“Hiya,” Ben says. The moment Callum sits down, he falls against his side. “I’m dead.” 

Callum smiles up at him, lashes clumped together and messy. He rubs his thumb over Ben’s bicep slowly, and he doesn’t miss the way Ben’s eyes flicker down to his lips, and then back up to his eyes, tapping his bottle against his lips.

“You’re not very subtle, are you?” he says, but he starts to smile, leaning closer.

“I’m not trying to be,” Callum shrugs, honest. 

“You’re the worst drunk,” Ben laughs as their mouths part, but he’s drunk, too. Callum can see it, can feel it in the loose, fumbling way Ben’s fingers play with the hem of his shirt, the bright, glaze of his eyes as he sweeps his gaze up Callum’s body. 

“Am not,” Callum whispers. He doesn’t know why he’s whispering, but they’re close enough for it. Ben exhales into his neck, and Callum has to close his eyes. His mind can’t keep up. “D’you wanna—we’re going back to ours, soon. Gonna sleep before lectures in the morning.”

Ben’s smile is a slow thing, knowing, almost beguiling, and Callum knows they’re both thinking that same, hazy thing. _We wouldn’t be sleeping._

“How d’you know I’ve not already got another pretty boy lined up, huh?” Ben raises an eyebrow, rubs his foot along Callum’s calf. “Plenty of tall, handsome, _mysterious_ types, here.” 

The sudden plummet of jealousy that rolls into Callum’s stomach catches him off guard, and his cheeks flush before he can stop himself. He wants to hide his face into Ben’s neck, because, _God_ , he shouldn’t be jealous. _Stupid._ Stupid. _Not jealous._

“I ain’t mysterious,” Callum says, instead of _I don’t know why but I don’t want you to have anyone else._ The thought is sudden, and he isn’t quite sure what to do with it. Ben isn’t his, never has been, probably won’t ever be. It’s just him being riled up again, just Ben getting into his head and playing the cracks of his ribs like piano keys, tugging him closer. 

“That’s a lie,” Ben grin is easy as anything when he slings his arms around Callum’s neck, starts obnoxiously singing Mysterious Girl down Callum’s ear. 

Callum puffs an embarrassed laugh into Ben’s neck, and they fall that way together, these breathless little giggles that skate over skin. Everything feels so warm. “Don’t go home with someone else.”

The words are out before Callum can stop them. Ben pauses, pulls back, blinks at him.

“What?” he laughs, nose scrunched. Because it’s a joke. _Right, it was a joke._ That’s what Callum was just doing. _Joking._

So he laughs too, because it’s all he can do. “Nothing. I’m just gonna go, actually. See you Saturday?” 

“‘Kay,” Ben says easily, letting his arm slip from Callum’s shoulder. 

Callum presses a kiss Ben’s forehead like friends do. Ben lets out of a puff of laughter and shakes his head as he pulls away, lips pulled into a sad, off smile, gaze low.“

“Okay,” Callum says, and kisses him again, harder, tries to kiss away the dejected glaze over Ben’s eyes. 

He watches him stand, watches him smooth out his collar and do up the top button of his stained shirt, fix his hair and dust off his trousers. There’s something tugging in his belly, an invisible string that’s caught, tight. _Something feels unfinished._

“Cal, wait,” he calls softly, turning before he reaches to back door. “Of course I’ll come back to yours.” 

“Yeah?” Callum bites down on his bottom lip, one last attempt to stop himself smiling like a fool.

“Yeah,” Ben repeats. “Just give me half an hour to freshen myself up, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Callum says again. Ben shakes his head as he turns away, still laughing as he pushes open the door, the cluttering noise of the bar spilling out into the evening. 

Callum lets out a soft, giddy breath, and turns to make his way back inside.

\---

They end up eating pizza on the floor of Callum’s flat with Lola, Jay and Whitney, watching some wannabe indie horror on the tv, ears straining under the thrashing rain, soft and heady. 

“I love family night,” Jay sighs happily, head tilted back against the sofa. 

“You’re such a sap,” Ben says as they all laugh. 

Callum’s heart is already starting to feel heavy, and he drags his fingers across the sofa to touch Ben’s hip, sneaking them under the hem of his shirt. Ben twists to look at him, cheek cradled in his palm, and winks, mouthing _later._ Callum wets his lips and grins, reserved.

Night blends into early day, and it feels odd to see the sun cast its warm haze over the city. The hustle and bustle of London is just a blur past the rain, skyline building muffled by the downpour. When the kitchen light is flicked off, and everyone makes their way to their own bedrooms respectively, the last yellow warmth, only the television offers illumination, streaks of bright white and bleary blues. Callum settles on the couch with Ben sprawled between his legs. 

Ben is a deadweight against his chest, entire body warm, soft and giving in only his boxers and Callum’s grey hoodie. There are holes in the sleeves, and it’s miles too big for him, but still, Callum’s slips his fingers under the fabric to stroke softly at his forearms, making him shift and tuck his lips up against Callum’s chin. The movie is still playing in the tv, but Callum isn’t really paying attention, too occupied with the way Ben is touching his skin, almost distractedly. 

When Ben shifts to face Callum, the back of his — _Callum’s_ — hoodie rides up, and Callum presses his palms there, tugs him closer and traps him with his knees. Ben’s fingers spread under Callum’s shirt too, and he scrapes his nails up and down the small of his back in circular motions. 

He could almost fall asleep like this, body and mind sated, his head tilted back against the armrest, muffled rain, a warm body cuddled up close to his chest, legs tangled together. Time seems to jump and stutter. Callum blinks, _once, twice, three times,_ vision cloudy. Ben looks asleep, lashes soft brown, mouth slightly parted, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm against Callum’s abdomen. 

“Ben,” Callum murmurs, shifting slightly beneath him, bringing one hand up to the back of his head to scratch at his hair. Ben hums in response, sleepy and noncommittal, arms curling tighter around Callum’s middle, nails dragging softly over his skin. “D’you wanna go to bed?”

“Hm,” Ben murmurs. “You’re so warm. Don’t wanna move.”

His eyes flick down to Callum’s lips, backlit by a blue and silver glow. Callum’s stomach is flurried and warm with _want,_ little embers flaking down his chest to his toes. He feels fuzzy, like he’s wading through a dream, fervent with the need to _touch-touch-touch._

“You look good like this,” Ben says, breaking the silence. 

“Hm?” Callum hums, pulling his eyes back up to Ben’s, away from where his hoodie is falling, the spot where the shadows of his collarbones are soft and made for Callum’s tongue. 

“You, all sleep soft and _lovely,”_ Ben says quietly. He reaches his hand up and pushes his fingers through Callum’s slowly. Callum is helpless to the way his hips shift, the way he curls closer, only just managing to trap the tiny sound that gets caught in his throat. Ben scratches his nails in gently, looming over him, so close Callum can feel his breath on his lips, can feel the tickle of his fringe brushing his forehead. “You look good.” 

“Thanks,” Callum murmurs thickly, embarrassed, pulling Ben closer because he isn’t pulling away. Their noses brush, and Callum tilts his chin up, let’s their lips catch fragile and sweet, sucking in a giant breath as he presses both his palms against the small of Ben’s back. Ben’s breath hitches, and that’s all it takes for their mouths to fold properly, wet and warm.

Callum pulls their hips together, tugs Ben on top of him properly so he’s straddling his hips, a firm, hot weight. His skin is smooth under Callum’s hands, and he can’t stop touching him, can’t stop trailing his fingers feather-light along his stomach to make him twitch, then along his back to make him rock his hips forward gently. _Callum can’t breathe._

The sofa creaks with every tiny movement they make, every little shift. Ben’s body is intoxicating, and Callum squeezes the backs of his thighs, his hips, his jaw, pulls him closer, grinds their hips together. Everything is so warm. 

“Callum,” Ben whispers, frantic and wet on Callum's cheek, lips catching, tongues sliding. “ _Fuck._

“Please,” he whines, chest shuddering. “Been thinking about this so much.” 

“Do something about it then,” Ben says, shifting his hips down impatiently, eyes bright and glinting with mischief suddenly. Callum presses his lips against his neck, leaves _wet-wet_ kisses there, and smiles at the slow way Ben goes pliant for him, legs spreading, making room for Callum’s hand to trail down. 

The hallway light flicks on.

Ben pushes away, both of them stilling, chests heaving as they’re bathed in distant, yellow light. 

“If you two are having sex on my sofa right now, I will literally kill you both,” Jay’s voice drifts down the hall, cautious and edged with sleep. 

Ben, of course, has the audacity to laugh.

“For fucks sake,” Jay whisper-shouts. 

“It’s alright, Jay. You arrived just in time,” Ben is still laughing, gone watery-eyed as he tries to hold it in his chest. 

Callum lets out a stuttered, pitiful groan, curling his arms around Ben’s waist, face smushed against his belly. He’s so fucking embarrassed but Ben is so fucking how and— _Fuck._

“I’m going back to sleep,” Jay says. “Please, please, do not fuck on my sofa.”

“It’s Callum’s sofa too!” Ben bellows. His hand is still cupping Callum’s jaw. Jay makes a steady retreat, flicks the light off and bathes them in blue again, kitchen door slamming shut.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Callum whines into Ben’s skin, arms wrapped completely behind his back, so that his body is arched slightly off the sofa cushions. 

“ _Aw_ , babe,” Ben coos, eyes gone crinkly and soft in the corners, far too amused. He brushes Callum’s hair off his forehead, where it’s gone curled and wild. “You’ll be alright.”

Callum mumbles another complaint, lips smudged against the smooth warmth of Ben’s neck, pressing tiny kisses there.

“ _Callum_ ,” Ben says, warning.

“I’ll be quiet,” he whispers. “I promise.”

“Nope,” Ben’s thumb tucks gently under Callum’s chin. “I’m a man of my word.”

“Bullshit, you are,” Callum murmurs, which makes Ben laugh again, bright and bubbling, his fingers dragging through Callum’s hair.

“Let’s just sleep,” Ben says, tugging him up. “C’mon.”

“Fine,” Callum sighs. He settles against Ben’s chest, feeling too warm. The sheets are tangled around their legs and he’s too wired to sleep, shot full of adrenaline, heart still thumping wildly in his chest from the thought of almost having Ben completely undone. 

“Probably a good thing we got interrupted, you know,” Ben says, into the almost-awkward silence that’s begun to descend on them. 

“Oh,” Callum says, keeping his face neutral, eyes flicked down. “Yeah, probably.”

They fall asleep like that, tucked together and sweating, fingers still tracing and shifting almost unconsciously against skin. When Callum wakes up at noon on Sunday, groggy and slightly disoriented, Jay and Lola are cooking breakfast in the kitchen, and Ben is nowhere to be seen.

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Callum finishes up his essay, finally able to cross it off his to-do list in a bright red marker, sighing quietly. The problem is, that he’s got all this free time, now, and with his mind circulating back to Ben at any given moment, that isn’t such a good thing. He feels a bit angsty and full of this feeling he doesn’t quite recognise and his fingers are itching. 

The last few weeks have been full of sleepless nights, of getting a text from Ben that says something like: _do you prefer my maroon shirt or the black one? it’s for a date,_ and Callum will hold his breath in his chest and reply with something ridiculous to mask the fact that he wants to say, _don’t go out with him come over here and just chill with me instead, i’m here._

“Jay,” he says, drawing a furious scribble into the corner of his page.

Jay grunts in response.

“If, like, hypothetically speaking _,”_ Callum starts, and Jay slowly swivels to face him, “you had a friend, and they like, got with another one of your friends, but one of them wanted everything and the other was just out dating people who treated them like shit, would you, like—I don’t know. Do you think it’ll all end in tears?”

Jay blinks at him. “Mate, what the fuck are you talking about?”

_“Hypothetically,”_ Callum stresses, panicking a little. “Like if you had a friend who was always dating people that don’t really care about them? And you, like—you had another friend you know would be better for them. What advice would you give them?”

He has no idea what he’s saying really, or where this is coming from. Jay seems to realise this, too, because he has the audacity to start laughing, covering his face with his book.

“So, you and Ben, then?” Jay shakes his head, still laughing. 

“You ain’t angry, are you?” Callum treads carefully. 

“Please,” Jay exaggerates, “of course I ain’t angry. Knew it was going to happen the first time you two stepped in a room together. Your taste in men is questionable, but two of me best mates dating? That’s mint, _honest.”_

“We ain’t dating,” Callum sighs. _In his dreams._ “Ben don’t do that. At least, not with me.”

“But you’ve slept together, right?”

“Hm, just twice, maybe three times.”

“We both know it ain’t gonna stay that way.”

“I ask you for advice and you just mock me,” Callum kicks him in the knee under the table. “You’re so disrespectful.” 

“That was not you asking for my advice,” Jay rubs at his eyes, still shaking his head. “That was you trying to get some kind of weird permission to ask Ben out. Which he would definitely say yes to, by the way.”

“It was not,” Callum splutters. “That was all entirely hypothetical.”

“God,” Jay drops his head, then, he places what seems to be a consoling hand on Callum’s shoulder. “Listen to me, you idiot. If I were you, I would hint to your _hypothetical friend_ that you’re into him, that you want to be with him, whatever. But don’t leave it too late, alright?”

“Hm,” Callum ponders. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m so new to all this.” 

“When did this start, then?” Jay asks, soft. “You and Ben?”

“About a month ago, after a night down the pub,” Callum answers, grumpy and pouty, tossing his notebook onto the counter with a sigh. “I don’t know, Jay. Lately, it doesn’t feel like just sex anymore.”

“And what about him?” Jay asks gently. “What does your hypothetical friend — _sorry, Ben_ — think?”

“Wouldn’t have a clue,” Callum scratches at his chin, deflating. He thinks about the unanswered text sitting on his phone from an hour ago – _date was a disaster, hooked up with his brother instead lol_ – and he sighs again, leaning back in his chair.

“You’ll figure it out, mate,” Jay says, bumping Callum’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Give him time. Or, get Lola on the case.” 

They hadn’t met up after Ben’s shift the following Saturday night. Ben had said he was too busy, but the minute Callum turned away he was scrolling through his phone and being let off early by Ian. He hasn’t met his eye since, and Callum wants to sneak behind the bar and hide his face in Ben’s neck, asking him what he’s done wrong. For some reason, the thought of Ben being upset with him makes his insides turn. 

Callum doesn’t know if Ben is pissed off or upset or just generally off, but he hates it. _Hates it._

He has no idea what he’s done, but as he stalks over to the bar, he tries to screw his head back on and not embarrass himself through neediness.

When he finally pushes through the crowd, Ben is waiting with his arms crossed, leant against the bar and staring down an empty pint glass.

“Hey,” Callum says, more an exhale of breath because his cheeks are still pink and his chest is faltering. 

“Hey,” Ben repeats lowly.

“Alright?” Callum approaches hesitantly, until he’s blocking out the crowds of people and Ben is standing in his shadow, eyes a little cold, mouth in a line.

“Alright,” he shrugs, then, almost like a flinch, he reaches out for Callum's shirt. “Where’ve you been?”

“What?” Callum huffs a tiny laugh.

“This week,” Ben says, looking up from his hands, blinking slowly. “You ain’t been around.” 

“Went home for the week,” Callum says slowly, heat spreading up into his cheeks and his neck, breathing deeply. “Why? D’you miss me or something?”

It’s meant to be teasing but Ben’s gaze flickers, fingers tightening in Callum’s shirt.

“Not at all,” he says. 

“That was convincing,” Callum grins, and Ben shoves him lightly.

“Shut up,” he mutters. 

Callum had only been gone for five days, his brother had taken the week off work so they could spend some proper time together, and they had dinner and caught up. He always misses Stuart, texts and calls him all the time, but it’s nothing compared to seeing him in person. 

“Did you, though?” he presses, finding Ben’s fingers, cold and smooth against his own.

“Did I what?” Ben says, short and stubborn. 

“Miss me?” Callum asks softly.

Ben pauses, blinks up at him in the orange-dark. They’re still for a moment, just watching each other. Then, Ben’s hands come up to clasp Callum’s neck, and he’s pulling their lips together softly, noses brushing, falling together against the bar. Callum doesn’t have any time to steady himself, just lets their bodies press, lets their teeth clack for an awkward beat before their tongues slide and things go warm and heady and _yes,_ he thinks as Ben’s curls his fingers into the hair at the back of Callum’s head, _yes-yes-yes._

There’s light back in his eyes, features relaxed. Callum’s stomach settles warm.

“ _Excuse me,_ ” Ian, Ben’s boss _and_ brother, pipes up, swivelling on his stool, calculator in hand. “I’m trying to run a sophisticated business here.”

“You’re the least sophisticated person I’ve ever met,” Ben says.

“Remind me again why I hired you?” Ian says. “Go fill the fridge or something, I don’t know. And _you_ , stop being distracting.”

“ _Aw_. Jealous really doesn’t suit you, Ian,” Ben says, he and Callum share a look, mouths pressed into odd lines to keep their smiles down.

“You always get me into trouble,” Ben grumbles, quiet, only for Callum to hear. 

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Callum says.

Ben pushes him away with a roll of his eyes. Callum knocks a glass over with a loud clang, and the embarrassment is well worth the way Ben laughs at him for it. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
On Friday night, Callum watches Ben kiss a boy with ocean blue eyes and dusty blonde hair over a game of spin the bottle. He lets hot liquor burn down his throat and his eyes burn as he stares through the haze at the press of their lips, until Ben and the boy disappear. 

An hour later, Callum finds himself outside, tucked up on the pavement hiding away from the world. Inside, the party is still in full swing, and Callum watches the silhouettes of people dancing through the lace curtains, watches the smoking area empty out as it starts to spit with rain. 

Suddenly, it’s all so very quiet. The ground floor doors click shut, sound trapped behind the glass, and Callum takes in another deep breath, smelling rain and five-pound wine. His vision goes blurry quickly, and he falls into a not-quite sleep, on the verge of letting darkness swallow him over until morning, until the sun rises up and the swallows him whole for another day. 

It’s then, some knocks into his back.

They let out a shriek, as does Callum.

“Fucking hell—oh. _Callum_?” there’s a hand on his shoulders, shaking him. “Hey, hey. Are you alright?” 

Callum squints his eyes shut and makes an unhappy face. 

“Who’s that?” another voice says, distant and unimpressed.

“Look, Josh, I think maybe—” there’s an odd silence, then the other voice says _yeah, I get it, whatever,_ and Callum swallows thickly, fingers dragging through his hair for something to touch.

“Callum,” a voice whispers in his ear, so close that he shivers. Blinking slowly, eyes fuzzy, he finally lets enough light in to see Ben leaning over him, haloed by moonlight, hair mussed and knotted, lips red. “Hey, what’s going on? Have you been crying?”

“No, course not,” Callum mumbles, trying to stand up. Ben keeps him still with warm hands. “Too much to drink. I think.”

“Stop moving,” Ben says, sharp and forceful. “Can you walk?”

“Wanna kiss you,” Callum whispers. When he lifts a hand in an attempted to touch his face, Ben takes hold of his wrist softly, too gentle.

“Not happening,” Ben says, and there’s a tiny smile on his lips, like he’s trying to hold back how amused he is by Callum’s misfortune. “The only thing you need is sleep.” 

Callum shakes his head as hard as his drunken state will allow, which isn’t much before he starts to feel dizzy. “No. Just want you. Always want you.” 

“You’ve got me,” Ben laughs. “Stand for me, c’mon. Let's get you to bed.” 

It takes an awful lot of maneuvering for Callum to stand up. He doesn’t have the heart to feel embarrassed when he stumbles and sways, not even when Ben runs his fingers through his hair, soft. 

“Why’d you do that?” Ben whispers to him, rubbing his head slowly. “Drink so much, I mean.”

“Dunno,” Callum gasps out. He doesn’t know, not really. He doesn’t seem to know a lot of anything. “Saw you and that lad. ‘M sorry. _Fuck._ ”

“S’alright,” Ben says. “Me too.” 

“Sorry,” Callum says. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not,” Ben says. “Just very drunk, and only a tiny bit of an idiot.” 

“Thanks,” Callum wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and starts to walk slowly. 

“Careful,” Ben says. It sounds too soft. 

They tip-toe through the double doors and down the hall, careful not to draw any unwanted attention. Inside Callum’s bedroom, Ben helps undress him slowly,grabs a glass of water and some painkillers and sets them down on Callum’s bedside table as he climbs into bed. 

“Who was that?” Callum murmurs, unsure if he’s even formed actual words. His only indication is that Ben tilts his head to look at him, and suddenly, his features are frosted by moonlight, every dip highlighted by icey-blue, every curve shadowed by navy. “That guy, earlier.” 

“Don’t worry,” Ben says as perchers himself by Callum’s bedside, lays a hand over Callum’s chest, but he does it so slowly, so hesitantly, like his body is too quick for his brain. “Just an old friend of mine. Are you feeling better?”

“Hm. Sorry,” Callum rasps. “I’m a mess.”

“Don’t apologise,” Ben says. “I’ve had worse nights.”

“Still,” Callum says, tapping his nails against his chin. “You were obviously—um. _Busy._ ”

“Not really,” Ben says slowly, and Callum glances up at him. They’re stuck in silence, Bn gazing down at him, bottom lip bitten between his teeth. Callum’s face feels hot under his eyes, still so piercing in morning light. “Nowt special, not like you.” 

It feels too soft to be anything but _love._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“So,” Whitney says over breakfast the next morning, muffled around a mouthful of cornflakes. “You and Ben.”

Callum flicks his eyes open. “What about us?”

Whitney just takes a purposeful bite of breakfast.

“Whitney, seriously.”

“Nothing, _nothing,_ ” she says lightly. “You’re just awfully cosy with each other.” 

“I literally told you that we’ve had sex,” Callum deadpans. “Obviously we’re cosy with each other.”

“Yeah, but,” Whitney wipes at his mouth with the back of her hand. “He always gets proper heart-eyed over you.” 

“He does _not_ ,” Callum says, slightly incredulous with amusement. “We’re just friends. And, like. Yeah, I find him ridiculously attractive, but he’s got other boys. He’s always dating.” 

“Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t settle for just one,” Whitney says. “That one being _you,_ if you’re a bit slow on the uptake with that.”

“I don’t care who he dates, Whit,” Callum lies. “It’s not up to me. We’re fine just how we are.”

“Right,” Whitney says. “I’ve only known the guy a few months and even I know he’s always making eyes at you when you’re not looking.”

“No, he ain’t,” Callum dismisses, finishing off his second glass of water. “I think I would have noticed if Ben _made eyes_ at me,” he says, using the air quotes.” 

“And I’ve known him my whole life, mate,” Jay says. “You’re seriously clueless.”

Callum rolls his eyes and stands up. “Ben and I are mates,” he says, loud and clear. “Nothing more.”

“Whatever you say,” Whitney leans back. 

He texts Ben in the afternoon after debating whether or not to all day, when he and Jay are packing up their library setup. 

_how badly did i embarrass myself last night out of ten??? honest opinions only please_

Ben texts back almost immediately.

_horribly! a solid 12/10_

_shut up, you’re a filthy liar_

_and you’re just filthy_

Callum breathes in through his nose quietly. 

_you would know_

Ben takes a few minutes to reply this time.

_cheeky, Highway_

_see u Saturday x_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Callum’s not too sure how he’s got himself into this position again. It’s late, closer to sunrise than it is to sunset, the beginnings of a red sky lining the horizon. Inside, though, it’s all cool blues and dark shadows, they’re a silhouette below the sheets. 

Ben is asleep beside him, letting out these soft, even breaths, facing away from Callum. His nose is tucked into his pillow, one arm splayed along his side, the other curled into a loose fist by his head, sprawled on his belly. He’s changed into grey trackies and one of Callum’s worn through t-shirts, and Callum can feel his warmth from here, can imagine how soft and giving he’d feel under his fingertips, all thin cotton and sleepy. 

He looks so delicate like this, all guards down, peaceful. Callum can’t take his eyes away. 

“Cal,” Ben grumbles, thick with sleep.

“Sorry,” Callum whispers, settling beside him gingerly, bottom lip tucked into his mouth.

“‘S fine,” Ben says, but the words are slurred and distant. His body is already settling back into sleep. “Y’watching me?”

“No. Obviously not.”

“ _Soft._ ” 

Callum shifts again, trying to get comfortable among the springs in his back, the lumps that press uncomfortably against his hips. He feels boneless and on the edge of sleep, but each time he closes his eyes he’s wide awake, fingers tugging uselessly at the loose threads in the sheets, huffing quietly while he moves around.

“What’re you doing?” Ben whispers, raspy, tucking his chin over his shoulder to glance back, eyes half-closed and bleary. 

“Can’t sleep,” Callum says. “I should probably just go, let you—”

“Sh,” Ben turns over, puts his hands on Callum’s shoulder and rolls him onto his back, crowding his body up into his space. “‘S alright.”

Callum closes his eyes while Ben gets comfortable, breath warm where it hits Callum’s neck, arm slung over his waist, fingers curled delicately against his hip. It takes Callum a moment to sink into the mattress, to let his hands settle across Ben’s back, unsure whether it’s okay for him to touch like this, if it’s too much to pull him straight into his front and wrap his arms around him. Blinking up at the ceiling, heart thudding loud and dangerous in his ears, he wonders if the universe is trying to play cruel tricks on him, if it’s watching him and laughing. _Ben nuzzles into his chest._

“How was your day?” he murmurs. “Feel like I didn’t get to talk to you much tonight.” 

They hadn’t talked, not really. Callum had been late arriving, and then he’s been cornered by Lola, something about a surprise for Jay. By the time the party was dying down, he’d said as much as three words to Ben, exhausted and sleepy. 

“Alright,” Callum says. “Got a first in that essay I spent weeks stressing about. How was yours?”

“Alright,” Ben says, words smudged against Callum’s throat. “Went out for lunch, had a nap. Pretty uneventful for a day in the life of a Mitchell.”

“Where’d you go for lunch?” Callum asks. He traces his fingers along Ben’s arm, smiles at the tiny goosebumps that swell up under his touch. 

“Can’t remember, some dessert place,” Ben snorts quietly. “It was kinda shit.”

“Why?” Callum frowns.

“I went with this guy, Sam, comes into work all the time,” Ben starts. Callum’s stomach is already sinking, fingers curling against Ben’s skin while he tries to breathe evenly. “Turns out he’s an arsehole, but, I expected that, honestly.”

“Then why’d you go?” Callum murmurs. _Ask me. Ask me to go with you instead._

Ben just shrugs, drawing shapes on Callum’s chest slowly, aimlessly. “Company, I guess.”

“You don’t have to go out with idiots like that for company,” Callum says, before he can stop himself, a little too sharp for the quiet.

Ben lifts his head and peers down at him in the dark. “No?”

“No,” Callum shakes his head, earnest. “You can always, like, text me, you know? I don’t study at the weekend, honest.” 

Ben observes him, and when he smiles, it’s dejected and soft, lips tucked in. He lifts his hand, sinks his fingers into the soft hair by Callum’s ear, pushing it back from his face. With his thumb, he leaves a soft, warm trace along Callum’s jaw. _Everything about this is familiar, the two of them curled together in the dark, in a little pocket of quiet._

“You’re too kind, Callum,” Ben says, thumb catching Callum’s bottom lip. 

“‘M not,” Callum whispers, kisses the pad of Ben’s thumb before he can stop himself, fingers rubbing firm circles on his hips, pressing close. “I just try and treat you the way you should be treated.” 

That last part slips out too fast for him to catch and swallow it back down; a thorn of a thought poking out from a rose, catching along his skin and splitting him open, exposing thoughts that are supposed to stay locked inside. Ben blinks down at him, halfway between amused and guarded, the breath he lets out shaky against Callum’s body, slowly sinking into his touch.

“And how’s that, hm?” he muses. “How should I be treated?” 

Callum kisses him. 

It’s somehow innocent and dirty all at once. Their tongues slide slow and languid almost immediately, jaws open wide for each other, Ben’s thumbs pressed up firmly against the hinges of Callum’s jaw. They both inhale sharply at the first touch, at the dewy wet of their lips, and Ben’s fingers bunch in the fabric of his shirt, slips a hand down to cup his thigh and tug it over his hips, hoisting him impossibly close, sprawled half on top of him. His trackies are as soft as Callum imagined they’d be, and he kneads his fingers into the thick muscle of Ben’s thigh, spreading his palm there to settle and keep him from moving away. 

Their kisses are so drawn out that Callum can breathe between each swipe, a shuddery inhale that burns his chest, a shaking exhale that he pushes into the wet of Ben’s lips. 

Ben keeps carding his fingers through Callum’s hair, almost rhythmically, in time with the tilt of their heads, the fold of their lips, and Callum’s hands are shaking just from that touch alone, toes curling and uncurling over and over again when Ben’s fingers catch in a knot and he tugs.

It doesn’t move past that, though. They _kiss-and-kiss-and-kiss,_ until Callum’s lips go fuzzy and numb in a way he didn’t think was possible. It doesn’t feel sexual. It feels like the breathlessness of being vulnerable together. 

And that there, the unfurling of the cage around Callum’s heart, the gentle touch of Ben’s hands in his hair, that’s what makes his cheeks go pink, what makes a giddy warmth settle low in his stomach. It hasn’t felt like this before, not with the anyone in the past, not with one night stands or mistakable hookups with friends; and, _God,_ they’ve only known each other a few months, but Callum has never been so eager to make another person feel good, to cradle the fragility of _please don’t hurt me because I would do anything to protect you._

_Like this,_ wants to say, _like this, like this, like this. You should be treated like this._

He finds Ben’s free hand, rests his fingers in the gaps between Ben’s own.

“You’re a good person, Ben,” he whispers, ernest. “You have a good heart.”

Ben pulls away a little, facing Callum fully, and when Callum meets his eye carefully, he finds that Ben’s are shiny, full, brows pinched as he stares right back, something akin to a disbelief passing over his features, something Callum feels in his chest when Ben blinks, lashes gone clumped.

“You’re kind,” Callum adds, curling closer. “You’re so kind, Ben. You’re observant, and full of heart, and you don’t even realise how much you draw others in. And you’re witty and funny, even if you don’t think it. You know all the words to every musical I’ve ever heard of and you find it impossible to sit still whilst listening to your favourite songs. You wait until your tea is lukewarm to properly drink it all. You pick up on details that others are moving too fast to see. You’re brilliant.”

Ben stares at him, tears wobbly where they’re stuck. There’s this intense, steady flush crawling up over Callum’s neck, fingers curled in the sheets. 

“I’ve never met anybody like you before,” he finishes. 

Ben inhales slowly. “I ain’t anything special.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Callum says softly. “You’re just you. And I’ve never met anybody like you.”

In a different universe, a parallel dimension in which Callum is a braver version of himself, maybe he’d cup the back of Ben’s, pull their mouths away softly and look Ben in the eye, say _I love you. I’ve loved you this whole time._ Maybe Ben would do the same in turn, breathe the sentiment into Callum’s skin like a relief, and all the bad weight would lift, just the hot pressure of feeling so much remaining. 

But Callum isn’t brave, not like that. Instead, he says nothing and tries to say what he can’t with his mouth, his hands, just hoping that Ben feels it too. 

“We should sleep,” Ben says, but it falls from his lips in a tumbling sigh, almost regretful, fingers looped in Callum’s hair. 

They do sleep, eventually. They fall asleep curled together, lips brushing because they keep kissing, even when Callum turns them onto their sides and pulls the sheets up, encasing them in a cocoon of blushing warmth. 

Callum doesn’t become aware of the moment he loses consciousness, just feels himself slip away somewhere heady and quiet, until all that’s left is Ben’s breathing and the fuzz of yellow in the corners of his dreams as the sun comes up. 

He knows they should probably have some kind of conversation, but exhaustion curls around his bones and tugs him under, bubbled in warmth and the smoothness of Ben skin, the gentle glide of palms lulling him to sleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_did you steal my hoodie this morning?_

Callum's sorting through his drawers, drowsy sunlight caressing his back, muscles achy and tired from the night before. Ben answers him a few minutes later. 

_the grey one ???_

_the grey one_

_yep. i totally did_

_why?_

_because i wanted to wear it, obviously_

_but that’s my favourite!_

_too bad it’s mine now, i've claimed it_

_no way. bring it over. Now_

_only if you order me some food in like a good wife_

It’s only thirty minutes later when the doorbell rings, and Callum’s in no doubt who it is. He buzzes Ben up straight away, and when he opens the door, his eyes go to the plastic bag sitting on the countertop instantly. 

“You actually ordered in food?” he chirps, pleasantly surprised. 

“You asked me to,” Callum says, stepping inside. _I’d do anything you asked of me,_ goes unsaid. 

“Cheers,” Ben closes the door behind him and nudges the hips together, taking the bag from Callum, peeking inside. “Chippy?” 

“Mhm.”

“You’re a blessing.”

“I know.” 

“Hello, lads,” Jay says as he enters the kitchen, eying Ben wearily. “What’re you doing here?” 

“Nice to see you too, mate,” Ben says. Callum starts to unwrap the chips. “I’ve come to see me favourite students, obviously.” 

“Whatever,” Jay dismisses. “Y’alright?”

“Better now,” Ben replies, soft. He smiles to Callum, private, just for him, and reaches into the box on the counter to start sharing the food out. 

Once they’ve finished, Ben hangs around, even after Jay’s left, and Callum ends up with his feet hanging in Ben’s lap and his laptop open in his own, writing. Or at least, _trying too._

“What are you writing?” Ben asks. Callum halts his typing.

“A love letter,” he says. Ben pinches him. “ _Ow._ ” 

“Don’t be annoying,” he says. 

“I’m not,” Callum scrunches his nose at him. “This is top secret.”

“Fine, I won’t offer you my help then,” Ben pouts, bats his eyelashes. 

“No offence, mate, but what exactly do you know about Freud?” Callum asks flatly, focusing back on his laptop screen. 

“I know that he was fucking weird,” Ben says. “Can you put that in there?” 

“Absolutely not,” Callum shakes his head. “Now stop distracting me.” 

“I’d never do such thing! Now, are you gonna come down here and kiss me, or not?” Ben mumbles. Callum stares at him for a moment, weighing up his options.

“Or not,” Callum says, teasing, and then they’re kissing.

Before long, they end up in Callum’s bed, lay side by side, lips moving in long, slow glides, breaths coming out heavy through their noses. Callum’s hands slowly slide around Ben’s middle and he pulls him impossibly closer, warm and gentle.

It doesn’t take long for their mouths to open wide, for Ben to whine high in his throat, for him to spread his legs and for Callum to settle between them, pressing down.

Ben’s hands are everywhere, his fingers dipping into the flesh of Callum’s thighs as his tongue dips into his mouth.

“When do you have to be at work?” Callum asks when they pull away to breathe. He immediately unbuttons the top of Ben’s shirt so he can get his mouth on his chest.

“Dunno,” Ben says with a gasp, Callum’s mouth working down his chest. “I’ve got time. _For you.”_

\---

Afterwards, Callum runs his fingers through Ben’s hair softly as Ben rests his head on his chest. He could fall asleep right here, easily. 

_“Shit,”_ he breathes suddenly. “I‘ve gotta get to uni.”

At this, Ben lets out a bright cackle of laughter. 

_“Don’t gooo,”_ he whines softly. He threads their fingers together.

“I have to,” Callum says, shifting from underneath him. Ben whines again, head flopping onto Callum’s pillow. “Got a meeting with my tutor.”

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Ben muses, smirk splitting his face. He’s evidently not listening to Callum as he prods at Callum’s neck, where his shirt is still messily unbuttoned and there’s a bruising hickey blooming where his neck meets his collarbone. 

Callum grabs at his hand to stop him, but Ben fights against it, and soon they’re practically wrestling, Ben leaning over Callum’s stomach and chest whilst their interlocked hands swing back and forth, both of them giggling madly.

“You’re a nightmare,” Callum hisses, pressing his lips together as his smile threatens to take over his whole face.

Finally, he breaks free of Ben hold and stands, shoving his feet into his shoes.

“Are you happy?” Ben asks, sudden and brave. “I mean us, like this. You’re happy with how things are, right?”

Callum stares at him, at the redness crowding Ben’s sleepy eyes, the most genuine person he’d ever known. He isn’t happy. _He’s in love._ People always seem to lump those things together, but Callum has always been able to tell them apart. He isn’t happy. But he is in love. _He’s desperately, dangerously and foolishly in love._

“Yeah,” he lies, the first of many. It makes Ben smile, and that’s good enough for him. 

“How do I look?” Callum says then, just to keep his beating heart at bay. He ruffles his hair back into place.

“Like you just got your dick sucked,” Ben says, all serious, before he breaks out into a grin, laughing when Callum rolls his eyes and pushes him backwards. 

“I’m going _now,_ ” Callum huffs, pushing his feet away to walk out of the room. “Let yourself out and _do not_ steal my hoodie again!” 

The whole way to his meeting, Callum can’t stop grinning.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


For a while, things are good. 

Callum kind of exists in this haze, a haze of essays and coursework and lectures that all lead him towards Saturday nights, the times he gets to be in Ben’s company. Sometimes they kiss and sometimes they don’t but it feels okay because Ben gives him this feeling of being so full, _so_ _whole_. 

When he comes over to the flat now, Callum’s often the only one in, but neither of them mention that. They share drinks and play video games they grew out of years ago, or watch films either one of them have seen a hundred times over. But Callum doesn’t mind. _He doesn’t mind a lot with Ben, it seems._

He still hasn’t had the courage to properly ask Ben out, as much as Jay keeps pestering him about it, it still feels too much, _too risky._ He’s waiting for something on Ben’s end, some sort of sign, anything, because the last thing he wants to do is rush into this and have his heart smashed to pieces.

This is precisely the thought he’s having when he heads out into the beer garden to find Ben, sweaty and already grinning because Ben has been dancing behind the bar like an idiot all night. 

Only, Ben isn’t alone. 

Callum freezes.

“Oh,” he says, and Ben shoves the other man away, expression flickering. “Right, then.”

“Hey!” the guy says, clearly not reading the painful awkwardness of the situation, the anger that Callum is radiating, because he walks right over and holds out his hand to shake. “Alright mate?” 

Callum doesn’t know if he’s angry or upset or a mixture of both, but he feels close to exploding, to curling into a ball and hiding himself away because he’s embarrassed, too. 

“Yeah,” Callum replies, cold. “‘M fine.” 

The guy lingers for a moment, clearly confused at his lack of enthusiasm. 

“Liam,” Ben says tightly. “You should go.”

“But—,” the guy, _Liam,_ stops. Looks between them. “Oh. Okay. I see.” 

His footsteps seem to echo as he makes a hurried exit, and Callum stands there with his heart ripped out of his chest. He wants to throw it at Ben’s feet.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he says. Ben closes his eyes.

“Callum, listen—”

“I don’t want to,” Callum says, and, _fuck._ He refuses to cry over this. “You’re an asshole, Ben.” 

“I know,” Ben says, scratching at his arm, and he looks ashen, staring at his toes. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not.”

“ _Callum_.” 

“How long has he been around, then?” Callum presses, slightly hysterical. “Because you had your mouth on mine a few nights ago, so it must be new.” 

“It’s not—”

“Like that?” Callum finishes for him, and Ben mouth clicks shut. “Right. Goodnight, Ben.”

“Cal, wait—” Ben makes to follow, but the moment Callum rounds on him he stops in his tracks. “ _Please.”_

“Don’t,” he says, tremulous. “Just— _don’t_.” 

He turns, slinks through the side fence down the end of the alley to where the van is parked in front of the rusted loading bay, and he shuts himself in the back, hugs his knees to the chest and lets the dark curl around him, red light shining through. He feels like he’s about to be sick. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Do you want to talk about it?”

“ _No._ ”

“You have to talk about it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re miserable.”

“Evidently.” 

It’s Monday morning. Callum hasn’t been to a lecture in three days and that must be some record or something. _He’s allowed to wallow._

“Callum,” the look Jay gives him is pitying.

“It doesn’t even matter,” Callum says, stirring his coffee aggressively. “We weren’t even properly together. Or at all. It don’t matter.”

“You love him, though,” Jay says, and Callum pauses, puts the labeller calmly onto the counter, and crumples. “Oh, Jesus. C’mon, mate. You’re alright.” 

“He’s such a prick,” Callum sniffs, “but I just want to go talk to him. Why is that?”

“Because you don’t want to let it go,” Jay says. “You shouldn’t let it go. I’m not going to let you let it go, even if I do want to punch his teeth in.” 

“Thanks,” Callum laughs wetly and wipes at his eyes, breathing in and out, once, twice, three times. _Calm. Collected._ He’s fine. “I don’t think he’ll want to talk to me, either. I kinda just stormed off.”

“As you should’ve,” Jay says firmly. “Don’t you dare apologise first. I know you. Don’t do that.”

“I won’t,” Callum sighs.

“Good,” Jay says. “You’re way too nice. You gotta be an asshole too sometimes, y’know?”

“Right,” Callum says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll try.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The night is humid, almost unbearably so. Callum can feel the sweat building on the back of his neck, t-shirt sticking slightly. He can’t bring himself to care, though, in fact, it’s getting harder to feel anything at all, other than the dread bubbling in his stomach.

He’s never felt bad energy walking into Ian’s bar before, but things are so obviously tense tonight. There’s a group of them huddled into one of the tiny booths, Lola and Whitney have been quiet all night, and Callum knows Jay must have told them _something,_ but they don’t ask questions, just order him a shot of something offensively bright and steer the conversation away from anything Ben Mitchell, who’s presence Callum is resolutely ignoring. He’s just a black spot in his vision, refusing to look over to the bar where Callum knows he’s working the punters. 

Although, ignoring him proves quite difficult. There’s a smash of glass, an obnoxious cheer from around the room, and a few choice words on Ben’s behalf. It’s a gradual, slow, thing when Callum looks over, like the world turning on its axis, aligning — or falling off completely. Ben looks stony-faced and angry, he looks caught out.

It’s all Callum can do to turn away, throw his head back and pretend he finds Jay’s awful joke funny. It’s unkind, _childish,_ and not the way he would go about something like this usually, but he and Ben have been playing games with each other since the moment they met, and now it’s Ben’s turn to click the final piece of the puzzle in place. _Checkmate,_ he thinks, when Ben shoves his way outside before the punter’s jeering has even finished.

Ben is a silhouette amongst the stormy clouds when Callum stumbles outside five minutes later. _He always has been weak when it comes to Ben Mitchell._

He’s leant against the wall and out of the rain, hair out of place hanging above his eyes. When he hears the snick of the door his gaze darts up like a spooked animal, and when he spots Callum, he stands immediately. 

“You fucking terrify me,” is what Ben blurts, and _that,_ Callum hadn’t been expecting. Ben runs his hands through his hair, jaw twitching as he looks at the ground. “You scare the shit out of me, Callum. Every time I look at you I want to just run away because I never, ever want to hurt you, and that’s all I seem to keep doing. I keep messing this up and I never meant to mess with your feelings the way I have, and I’m sorry.” 

Callum stares. “Why, then? Why all these mixed signals? Do you want me? Because if you don’t, you need to stop coming over and texting me all the time and making me follow after you when we’re not even going anywhere.”

“I want you,” Ben says, coming closer. “ _God_ —I want you so much, okay? I didn’t know if you’d want me back, truthfully.”

“What?” Callum coughs out an incredulous sound. “You’re ridiculous, Ben. I’ve spent _months_ chasing after you, even longer thinking about you. I hang off every word you say, I listen to all the songs on your playlists and I watch every move you recommend. _It’s embarrassing.”_

“And I’m furious with you because you just pick me and drop me whenever you’re bored,” he continues, voice tight, eyes hot. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, Ben. I don’t know if I love you or not but I know that I could, I know that I could love you but you just won’t let me. You won’t let me get close enough.”

Ben’s mouth parts, and Callum flushes because he’s just—. _Love._ Fuck.

“Callum,” Ben says, and he’s close enough to touch now. “I’m sorry, honestly—I’m _so_ sorry.”

“ _Stop,_ ” Callum whispers, but Ben shakes his head. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” Ben says, grabs Callum’s hand and links their fingers together. “It’s not okay and I need you to let me be sorry. I don’t want to fuck this up. You’re— _God,_ Callum, you’re the kindest, most lovely person I’ve ever met. Please let me be sorry.”

“Alright,” Callum nods, and his eyes grow misty and hot and he hates that he’s about to cry but then Ben is pulling him in, and he’s warm and safe and this might just be okay. 

“How long?” Ben rasps. Callum tucks his face into his hair. “How long have you been hiding your feelings?” 

“Nearly the whole time, I think,” he says, flushing. “Just ignored it at first, but I always knew. You’re it for me, Ben.”

“Me, too,” Ben admits shyly, and Callum’s flush deepens. “I know I ain’t great at showing it, Callum. But I feel it too. I’ve felt it for so long.” 

“We’re such idiots,” Callum whispers, and Ben laughs, bright and echoing up the empty alley, head buried in Ben’s shoulder.

“Fucking hell,” Ben breathes, pulling back a little, letting their noses brush. “I’m serious, though. I’m gonna make it up to you. I was such a dickhead last week. And all the times before then.” 

“I might let ya,” Callum breathes, sniffling.

“Please don’t cry,” Ben says, cupping his cheeks and wiping the tears before they can make silver tracks down his cheek. “Please, I can’t watch you cry.”

“I’m alright,” Callum laughs wetly, presses into the pretty, soft skin of Ben’s neck, hides there, sighs slowly when Ben fingers bunch in the back of his shirt. “It’s just, it’s been a lot. Feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Well you’re not,” Ben pinches Callum’s sides, and they scuffle for a moment, grinning. “We’re honestly the worst. I’m _so_ into you, Callum.”

“Stop it,” Callum whispers, because he feels giddy and so flushed and Ben is kissing his temple over and over.

“No,” he breathes. “I think about you all the time, and I want you to know that. _Only you._ ” 

Another pitter-patter of laughter, softer now, just a breath as they blink at each other in the dark. 

Neither of them shift away. 

Their smiles are starting to fade. Ben is watching him back, and Callum’s fingers curl up at it. So do Ben’s’ own. 

Callum’s chest shudders with a breath. Ben’s lips part.

They collide.

And there’s still so much to say but Callum can’t hold off any longer, he has to press closer and feel the familiarity of Ben’s lips, feel close to him in this way again. When they break apart they linger for a moment, noses brushing, and when Callum opens his eyes Ben is smiling at him in that soft, fond way.

"God, I've missed you so much," Ben sighs, and his words are shaking, so Callum swallows up the sound, kissing back roughly. 

"I’ve been right here,” he speaks into Ben’s mouth and his voice is ruined, eyes growing heavier, the whole world blurring. He feels the tears welling up in his throat again, suffocating. "I've been right here, Ben. I've just been waiting for you."

Ben pulls away, his lids still shut, brow furrowed. When he slowly opens his eyes, flickering madly over Callum’s own, his voice is barely there. “Is it too soon to say that I love you?”

Every single nerve ending in Callum’s body lights up, blood pulsing through him in a mad rush. He shakes his head vigorously and kisses Ben hard, their noses bumping.

“No,” he breathes, and he feels like he’s about to cry again. “Ben, we’ve been sleeping with each other for nearly a year.” 

“I think I do,” Ben says on a breathy laugh. “I think I do love you.”

“I love you too,” Callum chokes out. “Ben, you—you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

They fall back together, music swelling from the bar inside, and finally, the weight in Callum’s chest stops feeling so heavy. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for all the love and support over the last few weeks & always. i’m @sunshinehighway on tumblr — come say hi !!! Xx


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